


Can't You See These Skies are Breaking?

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: South Park
Genre: Asphyxiation, Dubious Consent, M/M, Murder, Yandere!Craig, barafield, rated M FOR MURDER
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5685118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>His knees turn weak in an instant, and his stomach feels as though it drops three stories. He manages to stay standing, though, barely. He reaches out for Kyle’s hand under the pretense of solidarity but really Stan feels like if he doesn’t, he’ll bolt. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't You See These Skies are Breaking?

**Author's Note:**

> written for barafield on tumblr and based on [this post](http://barafield.tumblr.com/post/135065468576/staig-au-where-craig-is-dating-stan-and-becomes-a) of theirs that details yandere!murderer!craig. I was too inspired, couldnt' resist. 
> 
> read the warnings please!!

Stan can’t help but look around. The soft silence is overwhelming, and he hates it. Kyle is beside him and Cartman is at his other side. Both look appropriately sad, and Stan hopes that his expression matches. It’s not that he’s _not_ sad, he’s devastated over Kenny’s most recent death. It’s not lack of grief that has Stan combing the crowd with his eyes. It’s a nagging sense of alarm in the back of his mind. He takes note of who is in attendance, squinting occasionally to make sure he’s seeing things right.

As the moment of silence comes to a close and the priest steps up to deliver a speech, Stan realizes just who exactly is missing. His knees turn weak in an instant, and his stomach feels as though it drops three stories. He manages to stay standing, though, barely. He reaches out for Kyle’s hand under the pretense of solidarity but really Stan feels like if he doesn’t, he’ll bolt. It’s a struggle not to take off and find _him_ , but Stan keeps himself in check. Somehow.

)

He rushes through the pleasantries of the funeral. It’s not the first and he doubts it’ll be the last, so he ignores the somewhat scandalized looks of his friends and family and takes off as soon as he can. He knows he looks absurd, running full speed in a suit and tie, oxfords slamming onto the sidewalk so hard his feet start to ache.

He skids to a stop in front of the right house and all but throws himself at the door. He rings the doorbell and pairs it with incessant knocking. He continues until, eventually, the door opens and reveals a bored looking Craig standing in the doorway.

Craig raises an eyebrow. “Funeral over already?” His tone gives nothing away, though. Stan is mostly used to it by now, years of dating have that effect. But even to him, something feels wrong.

“Can I come in?” Stan says instead of answering. Craig backs up to let his boyfriend inside and locks the door behind them. “Craig, we need to talk.”

Stan doesn’t miss the spark in Craig’s eyes. It’s not a lustful one like he’s seen before, though it’s close to the mischievous gleam sometimes twinkling in Craig’s gaze, but not quite the same. It’s unfamiliar to Stan and sends a chill down his spine.

Craig doesn’t agree or disagree, just gestures for Stan to follow him. Stan obeys, following close behind Craig as they move to his bedroom. Stan can feel his hands shaking and his knees are weak again. Craig sits on the bed easily, though that glint still lingers in his eyes. “So. Talk.” Craig says, voice still even and unrevealing.

Stan tugs his hat off his head to worry it nervously between his hands. He stares at the floor, at his now horribly scuffed up shoes. He’s not sure what to say—how, exactly, do you accuse your three-year-boyfriend of murder? Stan bites at his own lips uneasily and looks anywhere but Craig. Normally, they’re on fairly equal footing. Stan is more of a softie, but he’s not one to be pushed around. Craig is far from a wimp, and he certainly takes no shit.

Stan feels like the floor is going to swallow him whole. His throat feels tight. He watches from the corner of his eye as Craig stands and advances on him with a predatory grin. Stan backs up, countering each of Craig’s forward steps, until his back hits the wall and he’s cornered. Craig leans in close and cages Stan in. They’re the same height, and eye to eye.

“You wanna know why I did it?” Craig purrs. His voice sends another chill through Stan, but this time it’s accompanied by a rush of arousal. Stan feels sick to his stomach but can’t find any words. “I did it because he _touched_ you.” Craig draws a ragged nail down Stan’s neck, watching the skin turn red in its wake. “He touched you, and you’re _mine_.”

Stan shakes so bad his teeth begin to clack together. This is a side of Craig he’s never known before, and he’s unsure if he wants to know more. “You—you didn’t have to _kill_ him.” He protests softly, though it’s too late anyway.

Craig smirks. “Oh but I did, and I’ll kill him again,” he kisses Stan sweetly on the cheek, a sharp contrast, “and again,” another kiss, this time to his temple, “and _again_.” This time, Craig bites Stan’s ear and tugs. He lavishes his tongue over the wound in a mock apology. “I don’t suppose you happened to hear about those killings in North Park?” Craig taunts, knowing full well the school had held a lecture a few days prior warning students to be safe.

Stan swallows, throat sore. “Why?” His voice quakes.

“Because,” Craig answers easily. He pulls back and takes Stan by the tie instead, pulling him towards the bed. “C’mon, doesn’t it turn you on just a _little_?” Craig asks without any real wonder. He knows Stan too well. He pushes Stan onto the bed and enjoys the way deep creases form in the pristine suit.

Craig knows Stan is off somewhere else, trying to work through what he’s just learned, so Craig takes it upon himself to get the party started. He divests Stan of his suit jacket and makes quick work of the sleek leather belt holding up Stan’s slacks. Craig’s long, deft fingers are moving to the button and zipper of said pants when Stan’s own hands intrude.

Craig looks up, amused by Stan’s worried brow and serious expression.

“Yes?” Craig prompts.

“What if—what if you—?” Stan lets out a noise of frustration before continuing. “Take it out on me.” He commands, voice turning stern but still not strong. He still looks unsure of himself, of his idea, and it makes Craig _so_ happy. “Take it out on me. Whatever you wanna do. Just, d-don’t _actually_ kill me.” Stan leaves off the ‘please’ resting on the tip of his tongue, already feeling far too exposed.

Craig’s grin splits even wider, showing all his teeth and revealing that crazed spark in his eyes again. He crawls back up Stan’s body until he’s straddling his boyfriend’s hips. Stan’s hands, on instinct, come to rest on Craig’s hips and he traces circles on the exposed skin. Craig trails his fingertips lightly across Stan’s semi exposed chest, across his neck, fiddling with the deep purple tie still in place around Stan’s neck.

Craig grips the end of the tie and pulls; Stan arches up off the bed and shrieks as the knot tightens, cutting off his air. Craig tilts his head curiously, licking his lips. Stan is quickly going red in the face and what little air he can get is short lived, rapidly dwindling. Craig is hard in his pants and can feel Stan’s cock pressing through the slacks.

“You’re pretty when you’re half dead, Marsh.” Craig taunts while never letting up on his grasp. Stan’s hands start to flail, first smacking at Craig’s sides, then his chest, then gripping his arms and holding on for dear life—literally. “I should fuck you like this, sometime.” Craig says a bit absent minded. He watches as Stan’s face begins to pale and his eyes grow cloudy, and drift shut.

It’s not until Stan’s body has ceased its thrashing and his hands fall limp to his sides that Craig lets up. He drops the tie back onto Stan’s barely rising chest. He sits, and waits, and idly plays with his cock through his jeans. He’s still hard and unbearably close to coming when Stan comes to again, gasping for air and shaking so hard the headboard rattles.

Tears are gushing from Stan’s eyes, though Craig isn’t sure if he realizes it. Stan opens his mouth to speak but all that comes out are coughs. Craig leans over his boyfriend. His hand curls around the tie again—a threat. The way Stan’s eyes widen with fear and the way his cock twitches beneath Craig sends waves of excitement through Craig’s body.

Craig sits up and takes the tie with him, choking Stan a little softer this time. Stan gasps and immediately reaches for the knot; his fingers are leaden though from lack of oxygen and altogether useless. Craig skillfully undoes the button to his own jeans and begins to stroke his cock in earnest. Stan shudders at the sight and it only spurs Craig on worse.

Craig lessens his hold only so he can hear Stan’s attempts at protests and moans. Craig doesn’t close his eyes, instead all too eager to take in the display before him. He can see the tie rubbing Stan’s skin red and raw, and knows that deep bruises will stay for days after. Stan won’t be able to ever forget about him after this, and it’s that thought that pushes Craig over the edge.

His come spills between them and stains Stan’s slacks. Craig eyes the mess and lets out a laugh at the wetspot that tells him Stan came without being touched. Craig lets his arm go lax, allowing Stan to catch his breath. Craig settles over his body and curls possessively around him. “You know what, Stan Marsh?” Craig grins, all teeth again. “You got yourself a deal.”


End file.
